Beatitude

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tramping clouds,
driven by cold, winter winds
scuttle over rolling
low delta hills,
casting moon-shadows,
impasto over dark grass
and glittering waters;

but high above
the tormented Earth,
beyond the passionate chaos
of cloud and wind,

the bloodless moon sheds
pure light
into black space,

and, enraptured,
gazes
into the unseen sun.

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3 thoughts on “Beatitude

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